


Apologues

by Andromeda_Cain



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromeda_Cain/pseuds/Andromeda_Cain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty one-shots that detail the lives of five men who are paired together the way I see it. No chapters really coincide with one another; just think of them all as AU places that I dream up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Okay if We're High

**Prompt:** Colors

**AN:** So, more Skins stories I've cooked up, though these include more than just Maxxie/Tony. I now totally ship Maxxie/Chris and will always ship Frookie. So, yeah.

As stated, these don't actually have morals, if you looked up the meaning of apologue.

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Chris

* * *

Maxxie was high.

Maxxie was not normally high, as he thought drugs and other such vices would impair his dancing abilities in the long run. Maxxie did not usually partake in any of the normalities his other friends enjoyed; he did not ususally take drugs, or drink, or stay out past three in the morning.

Today, he was breaking all his rules.

Humming to himself, Maxxie held a hand up, twirling his fingers. He was convinced that his digits were making patterns in the air above him, disturbing the equilibrium of things. In his mind, his fingers left waves of bright, rainbow colors.

Maxxie was lying on the ground in Chris's room, empty bottles and pickets littering the expanse of it while _The Smiths_ blasted in the background. Chris, who had been busy feeding his fish some MDMA, came over next to Maxxie, lying so their heads were close together. He stared at the space of ceiling that Maxxie seemed to be so fixated upon. "Whatcha doin', Max?" He asked, watching as Maxxie's fingers danced above them.

Maxxie smiled beatifically. "It's...the colors, mate. They move when you move." Maxxie demonstrated by twirling his fingers, twisting the colors of the room, lime green and hazy purple and deep red running from the tips of his fingers.

Chris's eyes grew wide as he watched, fascinated. "Fuck, Max, even your fingers can dance," he breathed out.

Maxxie's grin widened. "You can do it too. Watch." He grabbed Chris's hands, waving them slowly, a trickle of laughter escaping his lips at the colorful landscape Chris was leaving behind.

Chris, transfixed, moved his fingers up and down, watching as they left colorful patterns in their wake. He smiled, turning his head to look at Maxxie. "What's that scientific word for fingers?"

Maxxie also turned his head, wearing a blissed-out expression. "Phalanges."

Chris nodded his head. "Dancing phalanges."

The two burst out in giggles, heads gently knocking against each other. Chris twisted their hands so their fingers were interlocked. He leaned forward, placing a kiss on Maxxie's lips. They stared at each other for a few seconds or so, still smiling. "Didn't know you were into boys, Chris," Maxxie commented, blinking slowly.

"Neither did I, mate," Chris responded before pulling Maxxie on top of him, watching as the colors in the air made a sort of halo around Maxxie's head.

As Chris pulled Maxxie down for another kiss, the blond contemplated stopping this; was it considered taking advantage of Chris if they were both high? What if the brunet hadn't really meant to kiss him? What if this ruined their friendship?

As Chris's lips brushed against his and Chris's hands found their way to his hips, Maxxie found that, for now, he didn't really give a damn.


	2. The Basics

 

**Prompt:** Void

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Tony

* * *

After Tony's hit by the bus, it's like his mind is filled with a void. Words he can clearly picture in his head, simple things that, really, even toddlers can point out, never make their way to his mouth until it's too late. So when he's trying to tell someone about his ankle, no television, no accident, it's too late and they already label him a loony. If there's one thing Tony Stonem hates, it's rash judgment.

Soon enough, he just stops talking. Really, his only companions are the three family members whose names he always forgets, a few people labeled his friends, and nurses. They all seem to want to do the talking for him anyway, so he lets them. He stops trying.

One friend, either Matthew or Lewis or Maxxie, frequently visits. He'll sit there, not really asking much of Tony, holding Tony's hand or playing a bit of music or reading aloud quietly, and Tony gets the impression that this boy is not judging him. Tony Likes this boy.

The girl that's supposed to be his sister is similar to the boy. She doesn't ask much of Tony, she's always patient, she sometimes guesses at the words Tony wants to say. They make a sort of game of it. It's a little morbid, yet somehow it makes Tony feel better. Tony Likes her too.

That's all the emotions Tony can feel, for now; the basic Want, Need, Like, Don't Like. He tries to put this into words for them, to let them know he trusts them. Every time, the words somehow never make it out and Tony gets so angry he thrashes, destroying anything he can get his hands on. Once, he even hits the boy in one of his rampages, leaving a bruising eye and a few scrapes on the boy's cheek. Tony becomes delirious with grief, cradling the boy's face in his hands, tears running from his eyes. He can't stand pain, especially someone else's. Especially when he's the cause of it.

The boy gently calms Tony, lets Tony know he's okay, strokes Tony's arm. Tony's still crying, but he finally lets go of the boy, lets the boy dab a tissue against the blood and smile down at him, gently saying, "There, it's alright. These probably won't last a day."

They do, though. They last throughout the week, the bruise darkening and the scratches slowly scabbing over. Tony's so angry with himself, he stops eating. When the boy visits he only stares at his handiwork, hating himself, wishing he could take back his actions. After being hit by a bus, Tony shouldn't be so affected by a few scratches, or so he tells himself. But he can't bear the thought of someone else, someone he knows, someone he Likes, feeling pain. It brings himself pain.

Finally, the boy sees Tony's slowly dilapidating appearance and does something about it. The next day, when Maxxie visits, his injuries are gone. "There, see?" the boy says, letting Tony run a gently wondering hand across the place the scratches used to be and around the boy's eye, "It healed. No pain at all. Here, try your chicken, I hear it's rather good." And for the first time that week, Tony eats.

Maxxie only put concealer over his wounds, but with Tony's eyesight still recovering and the nerves in his brain dulled by medication, it's easy to trick Tony into believing his wounds healed overnight.

When Maxxie tries to leave, Tony reaches a hand out, grabs Maxxie's wrist. His voice, underused as it is, sounds a little raw when he speaks. "Don't…don't go yet. I…" his voice trails off as the words escape him, his eyebrows twisting low. Maxxie knows what will come next if he doesn't pacify Tony.

"Yeah, sure, I'll stay. Maybe we can finish that book I was reading. Or, I could inform you of the lascivious nature of your past," Maxxie states, raising his eyebrows and grinning at Tony.

Tony raises an eyebrow, unsure, but Maxxie only pats Tony's hand. "Kidding." He grabs a book from the table. "Now, where were we, page one hundred and something? Has anyone died yet?"

As Tony settles back to relax into the smooth words issuing from the boy's lips, he decides he likes this boy much more than he first thought. A new emotion appears, something he had forgotten until now. He thinks he might even Love this boy.


	3. We'll Always Be Together

 

 

**Prompt:** Together

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Chris

* * *

When Chris's hernia is first discovered, Maxxie is a mess of emotions. He wants to help Chris, he needs to be strong, he wants to cry every time he sees Chris's face contort in silent pain, he needs to know Chris will be okay. But he doesn't let Chris see it. To Chris, Maxxie is just a strong partner, standing by to help if there's need, changing Chris's bandage, kissing Chris when he's feeling down.

Chris tries to make light of the subject, even pretends to be hurt sometimes just to try to get a laugh from Maxxie. Every time, though, Maxxie ends up in tears. Chris resolves to stop trying this tack.

Instead, the two sit together, watching old movies or eating whatever Cassie brings home or making out. They're not sure if this time will last, if things will ever be as they once were, but they're positive of one thing. Whatever happens, whoever gets hurt, no matter how hard things get, they will always struggle through. Together.


	4. Parents Suck

 

**Prompt:** Defiance

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Chris

* * *

Maxxie awoke to a whispering in the dark.

Squinting, he turned his head to the clock that rested on Chris's bedside table. It was much too early for any sane person to be on the phone. Then again, this was Chris.

Maxxie slowly sat up, noticing that Chris was sitting against the window, talking heatedly into the receiver of his cellphone. "Yeah, Dad, well, I loved him too you know."

Surprised, Maxxie was unsure of whether he should let Chris know he was awake. This was a private affair, of course, but Chris hardly ever talked to his father. "Yeah? Well, fuck you, Dad, it wasn't my fucking fault! I'm sorry I wasn't the son who died, but I can't really switch places with Patrick can I?" A pause. "Oh, don't fucking bother with your half-assed excuses. The reason I chose to live with Mom was because I can't fucking stand you or your stupid rules. I'm sorry I even called. Just make sure to fucking stop by his grave before you go off on your fucking tour of Europe, you buggering twat." With that, Chris slammed his phone against the wall. It splintered in half.

Chris stared out the window for a few seconds before he turned, catching sight of a bewildered Maxxie. Eyes filling up with enraged yet morose tears, Chris crawled his way to Maxxie, resting his head in the shorter boy's lap. He was silent, just quietly sobbing against Maxxie's naked legs while keeping a firm grasp on Maxxie's hands.

Unsure of exactly how to go about this, Maxxie slowly released one of his hands from Chris's death grip, running it against the brunet's hair. "Chris, you…you want to talk about it?" Of course, Chris shook his head. Maxxie paused. "Well, you want to fuck me then?"

Chris stopped, thought about it. Sitting up, lower lip still trembling as he rubbed a hand against his eyes, Chris whispered, "Yeah, yeah, that would be nice."

Maxxie smiled. If he couldn't rid Chris of his pain and sadness, at least he could relieve some of it. Plus, it was hard to find fault in the way he helped Chris, especially when it meant the whole night would consist of short breaths, heated glances, and whispered "I love you"s.


	5. Sexual Confusion

 

**Prompt:** Science

**Pairing:** Slight Maxxie/Chris

* * *

Chris is fucking in love with Maxxie when he dances.

The controlled way he moves, the way his hips roll, the way his shirt sometimes slips up to bare a tantalizing amount of his abs, the way he's got this whole thing down to a fucking _science_ , all of it makes Chris want to take Maxxie down right there and do it on the stage. Which, considering he's performing in front of a crowd, would make it a bit hard to do, but Chris has always liked a challenge.

As Maxxie bends, performing a graceful somersault in midair, Chris has to hold a fist against his mouth to keep back a moan. Cassie notices. "He is rather lovely, isn't he Chris?" she asks, wide eyes staring at Chris knowingly.

Chris has to process this a few seconds. Adjusting himself in his chair, Chris tries to play it cool. "Um, yeah, I guess he's alright," he comments, unable to keep his eyes off Maxxie for even a second.

"I imagine you wouldn't mind going down on him right about now," Cassie states, turning back to the stage.

Forgetting himself, Chris responds, "Yeah, I'd tear that fucking outfit off of him and fucking give him a nice—" he stops, remembering his surroundings. He gasps, finally looking away from Maxxie. "Oh, Jesus, you won't tell anyone will you? I mean, I'm sure this is just a phase or something, I'll get over it. Right?" Chris is scared. He hasn't told anyone about his feelings until now.

Cassie shakes her head, smiling. "Chris, I believe it's more than just a phase. I've been watching you for quite a while. You can't keep your eyes off Maxxie every time he's around." She pauses, watches Maxxie dance. "I think you should go for it. I'm sure Maxxie'd love it; he loves sex, you know."

Chris can't stop his eyes from wandering back to the blond dancer. "You…you think he'd, um…like me?"

Cassie grins, knocking her shoulder against Chris's. "I would expect him to do more than just like you, Chris." She stares up at the clouds, wearing a dreamy expression. "I think the two of you together would be a magically wonderful relationship."

As Maxxie ends his routine, smiling out at the crowd and waving once he finds Chris and Cassie, Chris finds he can't help but agree.


	6. Loneliness is Scary

 

**Prompt:** Sky

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Tony

* * *

Up on Maxxie's roof, Tony stares at the sky, watches hazy clouds languidly drift their way across the stunningly blue terrain. He stares so hard the sun starts to hurt his eyes, but he can't look away.

A pulsing beat draws his attention enough for him to tear his gaze from the sky. The boy, whose name he always remembers until he tries to say it, is dancing, gyrating in place, leaping, performing gravity-defying flips. Mouth open, Tony stares in awe. It's as if the boy, who Tony now remembers is Maxxie, is part of the sky; it's as if he could take flight at any given moment and leave Tony here, stranded.

Tony doesn't like this. He stands, makes his way over to Maxxie, grabs the shorter boy's hand. Sometimes he does this, when he needs assurance or gets scared or just wants to.

Maxxie, who was just about to perform another dance move, turns back and smiles encouragingly. It's been a while since Tony seemed so responsive. Maxxie had only brought him up here so Tony could catch a few rays of sun while Maxxie took out a few frustrations through dance, but it seems this has started a spark inside of Tony. "Yeah, Tone, what is it mate?" he asks.

Tony wants to say something, wants to compliment Maxxie. Instead, he looks back at the sky. He's afraid Maxxie might still go away. He trails his eyes down to Maxxie, a tear slipping from his eye. "Don't…" he struggles to speak, "Don't leave me."

Maxxie smiles sadly, pulling Tony in for a hug. "Mate, I'd never leave you, alright?"

Tony's not so sure. But for the rest of the day, the two lay out on the roof, staring up at the sky. Tony never lets go of Maxxie's hand.


	7. Can We Kiss Again?

 

**Prompt:** Stars

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Tony

* * *

Tony stared up at the wide expanse of stars gathered in front of him, tears running down his cheeks. He snuffled a little, a signal that his episode was finally winding down.

Behind him, he heard another person breathing. A body dropped down beside him. "You sure took off fast, Tone," Maxxie commented, panting a little.

Tony didn't comment, just kept staring above him. Maxxie slowly wiped a tear from Tony's cheek. "What happened, mate? One minute it was all fine, dancing and drinking, and the next you're panicking and running out the door. I thought you'd gotten over most of your issues." Maxxie sighed, looking up to the stars as well.

"I thought so, too," Tony responded quietly. As Maxxie turned his head to glance at Tony, the brunet swiped a hand across his eyes. "It's just, it all got to be too much, all the noise and the bodies, it felt like I was being crushed. It brought back memories and I…" Tony couldn't continue.

Maxxie laid a calming hand across Tony's shoulder. "Alright, mate, alright. If you wanted to leave the party, you could have said so earlier. So, you want me to take you home?" Maxxie smiled, about to stand.

Tony grabbed Maxxie's wrist, forcing himself to breathe. "Actually, can we…stay out here a little longer?"

Maxxie looked right and left, taking in the abandoned parking lot and dumpsters just a few feet away. "Yeah, Tone, sounds good," Maxxie said, smiling and sitting back down. He didn't pull his wrist away from Tony's grasp.

Sucking in another breath, Tony made a second request. "Do you mind if we…you know. Kissed again? Like last time?"

Maxxie's smile grew wider. "Tone, there's nothing I'd rather do."


	8. He Can't Be Gone

 

**Prompt:** End

**Pairing:** Dead!Freddie/Cook

* * *

Cook can't take it.

He was standing there, dressed in that one suit he'd bought for that one time he'd tried to impress that one girl enough for a quick bang, when all of a sudden everything that's happened and everything that can never happen just forced a sob from his throat and he had to run. He'd sprinted away as fast as possible, couldn't bear to listen to that man speak about Freddie as though he was dead, because he can't be, it's not possible. If he just runs fast enough, makes it to their place soon enough, Freddie will be alive, it'll be just like old times, before Effy and college and life got in the way of their friendship.

He's gasping for air, his legs are killing him, but he can't stop, not when Freddie's life is at stake. If he could just push himself more, make himself run a little faster, everything would be alright. Freddie has to be okay. This can't be the end.

_The man is gasping for breath, the open wound in his skull bleeding profusely. Morbidly enough, he's laughing, maniacal gurgles bursting from his grinning lips. "Ironic, isn't it? The same weapon that killed your mate is bludgeoning his killer to death. Seems Nature still has that sense of humo—" he can't talk anymore because Cook is smashing the bat even further into the man's skull, needing to silence this abomination from hell. Needing to avenge his best friend's death._

_Right before the bat ends the man's life, he releases one more taunt. "Your mate begged for his life like the fucking pussy he was," he lies. "He didn't deserve Elizabeth."_

_Cook takes in a ragged breath, bending down low before the man's face. "Fred was the most courageous person I've ever met. The coward who took his life because he had what the bastard wanted was the true pussy. You're going to die the way he did."_

_The last deadly blow silences the man's laughter._

_The sickening crunch of bone breaking and squelch of brain cells dying brings a miserable grin to Cook's face. "I'll see you in hell, shitbag."_

Cook's reached the shed. He tears the door open, head swiveling quickly, fast enough to pop his neck. When he finds nothing but emptiness, the shed rid of all their personal objects, he's brought to his knees. Sobbing, Cook squeezes his arms around his waist, trying to hold in the desperate need to see Freddie one last time. His whole body is shaking, tears streaming down his face. He ends up lying on his side, eyes shut against the emptiness that threatens to overwhelm his psyche.

A few hours or minutes or days pass before Cook becomes conscious of the fact that he is no longer alone. He half-heartedly opens his eyes, looking around for the being. For half a second he thinks it's Freddie, and he's about to speak when the person steps up and it's Effy.

Cook doesn't have the energy to say anything. Instead, he just lets out a shaky breath and waits for her to leave.

She doesn't, just moves closer until she's sitting next to Cook, for once dressed in something that covers everything from her shoulders to her ass. With the new getup, she doesn't really seem to be the real Effy. "You left the funeral early," she states, staring down at Cook.

He doesn't respond.

Effy doesn't seem fazed. "His father came up and spoke a few words, not enough in my opinion. His sister was overly-emotional, but then again she always is. They asked me to say a few words but I threw up." She stops, as if Cook's supposed to say something now. He just continues to stare at the fly resting on Effy's knee.

Now she takes a deep breath. "You two…you loved each other a lot. Maybe too much." A pause. "It was…more than friendship, wasn't it?" She doesn't seem very affected, but the slight tremor in her voice and the twitch of her mouth betray her.

Cook finally speaks, still staring at the insect. "Let go of your frivolous insecurities, Eff. He loved you more than he loved me. We kissed a few times and had one sexual experience before you turned up. He stopped everything as soon as he met you." Cook's surprised by how mechanical his voice sounds, compared to how enraged he feels on the inside. Enraged and hollow.

Tears are slipping from Effy's eyes. "But, you…" she closes her eyes, turns her head away. "You would have been better for him. No one would have thought it, but…" a tortured sob escapes her lips. "I fucking killed him, Cook! I'm the reason he's dead! If it wasn't for me, he'd…" she can't speak anymore. Instead, she sobs into her hands.

Cook sits up, expression enraged. He grabs her face, eyes ablaze. "Yeah, you killed him. I knew the minute I met you you'd kill one of us, I just always thought it would be me. But don't fucking dare cry for him. You lost that privilege the second you chose me over him, however long that lasted." She's frightened, of how hard his tone of voice is and of how hard he's shaking her. "I've fucking loved him since I knew him, Eff. We were each other's first kiss, only because I pressured him into it! Everything I've done since he rejected me has been to try to forget him."

Effy's eyes are shut. Cook shakes her again to make her open them. "Every time you hurt him, Eff, I wished I could kill you! I hated you so much. You treated him like shit so many times. And now he's dead, Eff. He'll never laugh again, never ride that stupid fucking board again, never share a spliff again." Cook takes in a ragged breath, resting his forehead against Effy's as he shuts his eyes. "I'll never be able to tell him I love him, Eff. I never did, because I didn't think he'd want to hear it. But…" A tear escapes his tightly closed eyes, "But that's alright. I'd trade anything for him to be alive again."

Cook sits back, releasing Effy from his grasp. She sits there, slowly rocking back and forth as she cries silently. Cook stares up at the ceiling. "But that'll never happen. So, instead, I'm planning on losing my mind and becoming a hermit, holed up in this shed, waiting for my dead love to return. Let the neighborhood make up stories about me. Now get out of here before I lose hold of my temper." The way his fingers are forming fists betrays just how angry he is.

Effy's still crying, but she stands, makes her way to the door. Once she's opened it, she turns back, expression tragic. "He told me about you. What you both did. He loved you, Cook, almost as much as you loved him. If I'd have let him, he'd have told you." Bottom lip trembling, she escapes the shed, knowing that Cook will be too overcome with all the hatred and anger and absolute tragedy of it all to stop himself from hurting her if she stays.

Cook's incapacitated by grief. He could have had Freddie. He could have saved Freddie. Hugging his knees to his chest, back to laying on his side, Cook gasps out, "Fuck, Freds, I love you so much." He only wishes he had the courage to have said this sooner.


	9. Sometimes Challenges Are Worth It

 

**Prompt:** Refusal

**Pairing:** Freddie/Cook

* * *

Cook's always liked a challenge.

When he first proposes the idea to Freddie, he's laughed off. When he tries to insist, he's rewarded with a black eye. This just makes his resolve harden.

The second time he tries to propose the idea, they're alone in Freddie's shed, both sharing a spliff. Freddie purposefully ignores him and turns the music up louder. Cook lets it go.

The third time, they're at a club, the music pounding, drugs taking over their sense of judgment. Freddie almost agrees. Cook's leading him away when Freddie catches sight of Effy, calls out to her, and is then lost from Cook's sight. Cook's getting fed up.

The fourth time, Freddie's pretty smashed from drinking half a bottle of whiskey. They're sitting in the shed alone, it's four in the morning, and Cook's almost positive Freddie will give in. As he's making his way toward Freddie, though, the twit falls asleep, bottle still clutched against his chest. Cook decides next time, he'll do it no matter what.

The fifth and final time, they're hanging out at the local skating park at two in the morning and Freddie has just scuffed himself up enough for it to officially be time for him to quit skating before he kills himself. He and Cook are sitting on top of the ramp, legs hanging out, when Cook makes his move. "So, what say you, Freds? Up for a bit of snogging?"

Freddie lets out a sigh. "Why do you want to do this, mate? I'm telling you, it's a stupid idea. Plus we're straight. It would only fuck up our friendship."

Cook places a hand on Freddie's knee, rubs it slowly and seductively. "You sure, Freds? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure it would be fucking awesome. I'm a terrific snog and I've always been curious." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Freddie stares at Cook. "Are you trying to tell me you're bisexual or something?" he asks, bewildered.

Cook shrugs. "No way of knowing until I try it out. Come on, Freds, just do it for me. Help me figure it all out." He leans forward, stops when their lips are inches apart.

Freddie finds it's suddenly hard to breathe, staring into Cook's dark green eyes. He unconsciously licks his lips. "You promise it'll be a one-time thing? You won't use it for blackmail or tell Effy about it?"

Cook almost can't believe he's talked Freddie into it. "It'll be our little secret, Fredster. Now, lean forward a little and take off your shirt." Cook demonstrates by taking off his own shirt.

Freddie's wary yet does as he's told. "What's that accomplish?" he queries, placing his shirt next to him.

Cook throws his away haphazardly. "Oh, nothing. I just had to establish the fact that I'm better built than you." He grins.

Freddie frowns, reaching for his shirt. "Fuck you, asshole. Experiment with someone else."

Cook stays Freddie's hand, suddenly serious. He moves his face closer to Freddie's. "Don't move a fucking finger," he whispers, before he places his lips against Freddie's.

At the sensation, Freddie's first thought is ' _Wet_.' His second thought is ' _It tastes like spliff and cigarettes_.' His third thought is ' _It's not half as bad as I expected it to be_.'

Cook's first and only thought is ' _About fucking time_.'

The kiss starts off slow and tentative. Freddie is gentle, keeps his hands to himself. He lets Cook take care of it since this was all his idea in the first place.

Cook is pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable the sensation is, and he's unable to stop himself from wanting more. He pushes Freddie back until he's on top of the taller boy, hands rubbing against tan skin. He deepens the kiss, running his tongue along Freddie's lips and further exploring the inside of Freddie's mouth.

Freddie finds himself quite overcome by how dominating Cook is. He wraps his arms around Cook's neck, pulls Cook closer, feels their hearts beat against each other. Cook's heartbeat is just as fast as his own.

Cook feels Freddie's heart as well, quietly groans. It's insane, just how turned on he is. He rubs his groin against Freddie's, needing more friction. Freddie responds by wrapping his legs around Cook's waist, digging his own pelvis into Cook's. Both simultaneously gasp and moan at the delicious contact.

When Cook bites Freddie's lip, Freddie breaks away from the kiss, a quiet cry of ecstasy escaping his lips as Cook simultaneously ruts up against Freddie again. Cook takes this as a sign to continue his exploration, so he does, running his tongue along Freddie's chest until he ends up at Freddie's nipple. When this warrants another ecstatic cry from Freddie, Cook does it again, adding another thrust of his pelvis for good measure. Freddie's answering moan forces a groan out of Cook. He doesn't think he's ever been more turned on than he is when Freddie gasps and starts sucking and biting at his neck.

Cook needs to get off. Quickly his adept fingers unzip both his and Freddie's pants. He pulls Freddie's pants low enough so his erection is released while he only bothers to pull himself out before both of their dicks are between his hand as he thrusts forward, forcing a shuddering breath from Freddie. It's so much better, now that it's skin against skin, and Cook can't stop himself from kissing Freddie again, relishing the moan Freddie emits, both thrusting against each other again and again as Cook whispers Freddie's name into his mouth and listens as Freddie replies with his own and then it's there, Cook can taste it, when Freddie's thumb brushes against his slit and listens to Cook's pleas to "Grab my balls," and then he's coming, a whining groan rushing from his lips as he feels Freddie also come undone, fingers digging into shoulders and teeth biting lips and curses released from gritted teeth until suddenly it's all over.

Cook collapses on top of Freddie, breathing hard against his shoulder, grinning as he languidly runs a finger across someone's come that landed on Freddie's neck. "Fucking…" he starts, trying to catch his breath, "fantastic."

Freddie laughs quietly, a hand resting on Cook's back. "So, you're bisexual?"

Cook laughs as well. "Fuck, mate, I think we both are," he states, leaning up to kiss Freddie once more.

Freddie smiles. "Well, isn't this a predicament?"


	10. It's Easy if You Try

 

**Prompt:** Reflex

**Pairing:** Maxxie/Tony

* * *

Tony is incensed with himself.

Clutching the pen in his fingers the way a child would a crayon, he runs it against Maxxie's sketch pad, all to no avail. The doctors say it's natural, it will take a while for him to contrive all the basic motor functions he used before the accident, but Tony's fed up. It shouldn't be this hard to just write his fucking name.

He lets out an irritated, morose sound, trying again. The results of his efforts are a series of loops, forming what could be cursive "l"s. "Fucking buggery fuck, twat-faced fucking cunt!" Tony cries out, throwing the pen across the room and ripping random pages out of the sketch book.

A few minutes later, Maxxie pokes his head around the door, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. "Hey, I'm done with the shower—" he's surprised to see Tony laying across Maxxie's bed, face buried inside the crook of his elbow. Maxxie notices the torn pages, most of which used to be his drawings, the CD player thrown to the ground, many of his clothes strewn about. Maxxie sighs.

"What, were you trying to write again, mate?" he questions, picking up a few pieces of paper and studying them. He notices the loops and sighs again.

Tony quietly sobs into his arm. "I…I can't fucking do it, Max. It's all fucking hopeless. I'll never be Tony again, just a fucking retard inhabiting his body."

Maxxie drops the pages. He kneels next to Tony, pulls the taller boy up enough that he can wrap an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Tone, the doctors told you it all wouldn't come back in a few da—"

"It's been a month!" Tony interrupts, staring into Maxxie's blue eyes with tears running down his own. "I can't fucking write, no matter what exercises I do. It's all gone to shit, since that fucking bus."

Maxxie pauses, running a hand through Tony's hair. "You know, Tone, maybe that's the problem."

Tony sighs. "The fuck are you on about?" he asks, sniffling.

Maxxie hands Tony a tissue from the box he'd thrown about in his rage. "You're doing these exercises and trying to relearn all this stuff from scratch. But it's reflex, Tone; writing's something that stays with you. It's a big part of what your hands were made for." He stands, leads Tony over to his desk. He pulls a torn piece of paper off the floor, places that and a pen in front of Tony.

"Now," Maxxie starts, placing Tony's hand around the pen and positioning it on top of the paper, "close your eyes." He waits for Tony to follow his orders.

"Fuck's sake, Maxxie, leave it. I'm not going to—"

"Just fucking close your eyes you worthless sod!" Maxxie cries.

Tony huffs out a breath yet does as he's told. "Now what, you're gonna stick your tongue in my mouth gay-boy?"

Maxxie chuckles. "After, Tone, after. Now, don't think, just do it. Just let your hand remember."

Tony sighs, mutters something about how worthlessly stupid this is, yet listens to Maxxie. His hand is moving, yet he's not really thinking about it. Instead, he's thinking about how close Maxxie is to him, how soft he's breathing and how warm his arm feels against his own.

A small intake of air forces Tony out of his thoughts. He's only just noticed that his hand has stopped. "Open your eyes, Tone."

Again, Tony does as he's told. At first, he only sees Maxxie's smiling face. But Maxxie tilts his head, looking toward the paper. Tony looks down to see his name, 'Tony Stonem,' written in a haphazard manner across the paper. Sure, it looks like a two year old wrote it, and he's positive he wrote it better the first time he ever tried as a child, but right now he's so proud of himself he could cry.

Maxxie places a proud hand on Tony's shoulder, gently shaking him. "I told you, mate. It's a fucking reflex."

Tony turns to Maxxie, a slow grin making its way across his lips. "It was the power of persuasion, Max. You're incredible. You just better not try to make me gay next," he warns, teasing.

Maxxie laughs, a great bursting laugh coming from his diaphragm. "The minute Tony Stonem is gay is the minute I'm straight," he answers, clapping Tony's shoulder once more before standing. "I'd better change, you can keep writing if you'd like."

Tony watches as Maxxie makes his way past his discarded clothes, searching for his underwear. Tony's surprised to find that instead of wanting to keep writing his name, he'd rather watch as Maxxie's towel slips off of his waist. Huh. Maybe Maxxie did make him gay.


	11. Bedroom Issues

**Characters:**  Cook, JJ

**Prompt:**  Diversity

**Rating:**  PG-13

**AN:**  Wow, a non-slash story. Don't expect this ever again. One might pop up, but don't plan on it.

* * *

Cook had a problem.

As per usual, the problem was of a sexual matter, that being he had become very bored with his sex life. Sure, making Freddie moan and whine in pleasure always made his dick swell, but once he'd found all the ways to elicit these reactions, he found it wasn't as fun. This is when he'd usually start fooling around on the side with whatever vapid chick he encountered, but with Freddie he was trying something new, and that was monogamy. Hell, there was always a first.

Well, anyway, Cook was pondering this exact problem one day in the shed they all shared as their makeshift tree house, languidly draped across the armchair. Currently only JJ was his company. Noticing his friend's unusual silence, JJ commented on this. "C-Cook, I couldn't help but notice how quiet you are, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was the reason behind your silence, and I couldn't help but voice my opinion or rather ask if I had done anything wrong, for this was stewing in my brain for quite a while until I could feel the neurons start to flash against each other and thereby give me a heada—"

"Fuck's sake, JJ, you've got my attention, just fucking stop talking 'fore I kill myself," Cook interjected, kneading his temples.

JJ sat there, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he gathered his thoughts back together before he found himself ready to respond. He nodded.

Cook raised an eyebrow at his friend. "What, now you're fucking deaf or something?"

JJ shook his head this time. "I think you mean mute. And I was holding my tongue, in case you yelled at me again."

Cook sighed, leaning his head back against his chair. "JJ, my friend, I would never consciously yell at you."

JJ nodded his head again. "Well, good. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

Cook sighed again, looking out the window. "Don't think this is something you can help with, J," he responded, tapping a finger against the chair's arm.

JJ sat up straighter. "Do I have to remind you how many times I have surprised you with my intelligence and advice?" he asked, puffing out his chest a little.

Cook could count on one hand how many times he had taken JJ's advice. But hell, why not? He couldn't think of anything.

"Ya see, JJ, I got this problem. One involving sex." He folded his hands together, watching JJ's reaction.

His friend turned red, fidgeted in his chair, pulled at the bottom of his shirt. "Oh, erm, well, I would say…erm, uh, what exactly is the, er, problem?"

Cook managed a half-smile at how uncomfortable his friend got at even the mention of sexual relations. "Well, currently I'm seeing this…" he and Freddie had yet to come to terms with what exactly they were, and hadn't even considered the possibility of telling their friends of their questionable sexuality, "chick, and I'm having this problem with sex. Not performance-wise, since I'm always great, but I'm starting to get bored. It's always the same, I know exactly how to make hi—her get off, and…it's getting less exciting every time we do it. And we do it a lot." Cook huffed out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

JJ made a confused face. "A moment ago, when you meant to say 'her', you said 'hi'…did you mean to do that or were you trying to say 'him'?"

Cook backpedaled. "No, J, you fucking tosser. I might be bored, but I'm definitely not a fairy." He said a silent apology to Freddie. "Her name's Hilda, I stopped myself from saying it 'cuz I don't want you searching her out." He was pretty impressed with his quick thinking. And for Cook, it wasn't half-bad.

JJ thought this over, clutching his chin. Finally he nodded. "I think I've met her before, the one who goes to our college; she has braces and wears headgear, I believe."

Cook shuddered. "Nah, mate, different Hilda." He may have only had his sights set on Freddie, but that didn't mean he could let his reputation become so tarnished with such a shudder-inducing Germanic-sounding fraulein. "This one's in for the holidays. Big tits, blonde hair." He hoped this was a generic enough description for JJ to be unable to place her.

JJ accepted this with a shrug. "Well, erm…going back to your…issue, I would say…" and here he took a long pause, looking up at the ceiling as if solving a difficult maths problem.

Cook took this time to second-guess his decision to confide in JJ. If anyone was a hopeless nutcase when it involved sex, all fingers would point to JJ. The prat still had yet to lose his virginity.

A few seconds after JJ started talking Cook realised the room was no longer silent. "…and I believe that the solution to your problem comes with one word: Diversity."

Cook raised an eyebrow, smiling easily at his friend as he stretched. "Ah, what's that mate?"

JJ seemed rather put-off by Cook's uncaring demeanor. "What I mean to say is, if you wish to overcome your… _bedroom issues_ , I suggest you liven it up, per se." JJ folded his hands together in front of him, satisfied with his genius.

"What are you on about, J?" Cook asked, not following.

JJ sighed at the stupidity of his best friend. "I mean, you know, use costumes, try out a kink you never thought of before, use whips. Whatever couples do." JJ plunged on, regardless of how red his face was getting and how amused Cook's was. "Or maybe you could try doing it in a more spontaneous place, say your school bathroom or in a different room than your parents…" he trailed off, now that the entire top half of his body was red.

Cook sat there for a few seconds, then sat up and placed his elbows on his knees, then cradled his chin in his hand. "Ya know, J," Cook said, a smile starting to slowly make its way across his lips, "that's a pretty fucking brilliant idea."

JJ grinned. He wasn't used to his advice being heeded. "You…you really mean it?" he asked, his self-confidence growing.

"Shut up, now, I need to think," Cook ordered, turning away from his friend and muttering to himself.

JJ sat there for a few seconds, grin slowly dying. Finally he huffed out a breath, exiting the establishment. "That's the last time I offer him any advice," he mumbled, kicking the door closed for good measure.

 


	12. I Can't Be Apathetic About This

**Pairing:**  Maxxie/Chris

**Prompt:**  Bully

**Rating:**  PG-13

* * *

Since the day a young Maxxie Oliver of four years stepped outside wearing his mother's heels and lipstick smeared mostly over the skin above his lips, skipped around the apartment complex, and sang "Respect", the boy had found that most boys and even girls looked down on that. He'd been teased ever since.

At first, it bothered him. The same boys that had asked him to play the day before now taunted and jeered at him, refusing to allow him to even come near them. The same girl who had kissed his cheek and asked him to play house now threw rocks at him. Anwar was his only friend.

Soon enough, after three years, it had been too much. He'd come home crying, refusing to speak. His father didn't understand, until he walked Maxxie to school the next day and heard the kids' teasing. "Ruddy fucking bastards. Just 'cuz you're different, they have to sod all over you," his father had muttered, then, in a strong voice had yelled, "Right, clear off, before I go to each of your fathers and tell them about this."

Needless to say, the kids left.

Maxxie's father bent down to Maxxie's level. "Do they do this often?"

Maxxie nodded.

"Right…" his father said, tilting Maxxie's chin up so he made eye-contact. "Let me tell you something, Son. Those kids are only making fun of you because they're too self-conscious to be who they are, but you're not. They envy you, Maxxie. They wish they had balls enough to wear what they wanted, love who they wanted. You just have to understand you're so much more special than the lot of them. You've got the blood of an Oliver. Understand me, kid?"

Maxxie thought for a second then granted his father a small smile. "Yes, sir," he responded, throwing his arms around his father's neck.

His father smiled and patted Maxxie's head. "Now, off you go, don't wanna be late for school," he stated, pulling out of their embrace.

And after that, Maxxie really didn't give a fuck what other kids said about him. Not when his father thought he was special.

"Oy, gay-boy!"

Maxxie, who had been on his way to college, turned and smiled at the crowd of boys behind him. He was surprised that they still got this much pleasure out of teasing him, though they were now seventeen. "Hey, guys, what's up?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling easily.

"Where are your wings, fairy?" one called out.

Maxxie winced around his smile. "Ooh, good one, Colin," he said.

Colin's mates clapped him on the back. Another boy said, "Why don't you go dress up like your mum again, fudgepacker?"

Maxxie laughed along with the rest of the boys.

"Yeah, put on your heels, queen," Colin interjected.

Maxxie chuckled. Another boy, in the midst of another jeer, was interrupted by a call of "What the fuck?"

Maxxie turned to see Chris behind him. "Oh, hey, Chris," he said, still smiling.

Chris's eyebrows were pulled together, a scowl on his face. "What are these fuckers saying about you?" he queried, glaring at the boys that had surrounded Maxxie.

"Oh, they're just pointing out that I'm gay," he responded, grinning cheekily.

Colin stepped up. "Stay outta this, freak," he said to Chris, "It isn't your problem."

Chris stepped up next to Maxxie, seething. "When there's sodding fuck-faces picking on Maxxie, yeah, it's my fucking problem," he stated.

Maxxie grabbed Chris's shoulder. "It's alright, Chris. They don't hurt me. Actually, it's quite funny if you stop to listen." He smiled, trying to appease Chris.

Chris turned his glare on Maxxie. "I can't just stand by and let them talk about you like this." His tone stood for no argument.

Colin raised an eyebrow. "What, are you his boyfriend or something?"

Maxxie's cheeks turned red and Chris swelled up his chest. "So what if I am?" he asked, asking for a fight.

The whole circle of boys laughed. "Well, looks like there's two fairies now," Colin stated, winking at Maxxie.

"Fuck it," Chris stated, before he stepped forward and punched Colin in the face.

"Wait, Chris, stop!" Maxxie called out, right as one of the boys slammed a fist into Chris's stomach.

Chris didn't listen, just kept fighting, throwing punches at whatever his fist connected with. Maxxie sighed, raising an eyebrow. "Fucking idiot," he mumbled, before he pulled one of the boys off of Chris and went at a few others.

Two black eyes, a split lip, a sprained wrist, and an altogether bruised body later, Maxxie eased himself down on the ground as the last of the boys ran limping away. He let out a puff of exhausted air. "The next time you want to say 'Fuck it', remember this moment," he stated.

Chris grinned, gingerly setting himself down next to Maxxie. "Oh, but where's the adventure in that?" he asked, shoving a shoulder against Maxxie's. Both groaned in pain.

"Cor, but my whole body hurts. I think my ribs are bruised. Are you alright, Chris?"

Chris laughed quietly. "Jesus, my entire body aches. But, hey, we won that bloody fight. Don't you feel proud?"

Maxxie rolled his eyes. "Maybe in a few days, when my limbs stop screaming in pain."

Chris scooted closer to Maxxie, smiling. "But you're happy I stood up for you right? Happy enough to give me a kiss?" he asked hopefully.

Maxxie stared at Chris, pondering his question. Finally, he smiled. "You got me beaten up, but hell, at least you care. C'mere, you buggering twat." And with that, he pressed his lips against Chris's.

When Maxxie pulled away, Chris grinned. "Well, we're in no condition for college. Wanna stop by my place and have a quick shag?"

Maxxie groaned. "Just the thought of walking makes me want to throw up, mate. How about we just wank each other off?"

Chris smiled, helping Maxxie up. "Good enough for me," he stated, and the two hobbled home.

 


	13. Dat Ass Doe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Suspicion
> 
> Pairing: Maxxie/Chris
> 
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> AN: Shite, I haven't updated this thing in forever. But Maxxie was calling to me. Calling, goddammit! I n I Anyway. Please enjoy the sexy-times. I u I

It doesn’t come to him, at least, not at first. It takes a few occurrences, a few questions left unanswered, a few looks that don’t quite make sense. It’s in the way their hands sometimes yet hardly ever fleetingly touch, as though the space was put there on purpose. Eyes flitting to him then away, a tongue flicking over suddenly trembling lips. Pauses in conversations that are awkward and seem to be telling him something he should already know. Occurrences. Instances. Awkward little things that, when he stops to truly think about it, leaves him with even more questions than before.

There’s another occurrence, a few days after he realises there’s something going on. He’s dancing, as usual, although this time he’s trying something a little different, trying to broaden his horizons. His dance is sexual, lithe, full of all the pent-up energy that comes from abstaining from sex. He sometimes tries it out, dry spells, to see if it will affect his performance, in either a positive or negative way.

Somewhere during his training he’d taken his shirt off, and he thought he caught a flash of light glinting in the distance, but he’s too fucking hot to really care if someone’s creeping on him right now. He drops low to the ground, rolls his hips suggestively and stares at his shadow, hoping to find something to critique in its dark replication. Instead, he hears a voice behind him. Whirling, Maxxie comes face-to-face with his two best friends, Anwar and Chris.

“Oy, are you sexing up your shadow or somefin’, Max?” Anwar says, playfully pushing at Maxxie before backing up, straight into Chris who’s just… _Staring_. Again.

Eyes on Chris, questioning, Maxxie pauses his music before looking to Anwar. “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” he responds, playfully.

“You almost done? Chris and I wanted to go see a movie. There’s this one where I swear, there’s a nipple. Honest.”

Maxxie watches Chris’s eyes, how they seem drawn with a magnetic force to his shiny, sweaty abs. He stretches, just to see if he licks his lips. He does. Now Maxxie’s almost certain. “Yeah, sure. Can I finish up this last dance though? Maybe get you guys’ opinion?”

Anwar chuckles. “Sure you don’t just like having two guys stare at your half-naked body while you fuck the air?” Anwar tries to mimic Maxxie’s dance, and just ends up looking like the awkward malnourished twat that he is.

Laughing, Maxxie rolls his eyes, meets Chris’s gaze for half a second before he does that flitting thing again, then gives Anwar the finger and presses play on his boombox.

And, yeah, he’s definitely putting on a show.

His hips never stop moving, always rolling and thrusting and undulating. He keeps his eyes on Chris whenever he can, watches him watching himself, looking for a tell, for his suspicions to be confirmed. And they are, when Anwar yells, “Think you can twerk?” and in response, he does, and suddenly Chris seems way too keen on Maxxie’s ass and covering the front of his pants.

And then, Maxxie _knows_.

The dance soon ends, and Chris tries to be supportive, but Maxxie can tell he’s having a hard time even walking right now, so he doesn’t begrudge the garbled mess of words he emits in place of a compliment. Anwar seems confused, but when he starts to ask Chris if anything’s wrong, Maxxie elbows him in the stomach and gives him a look, one that says ‘ _Just drop the fucking question_.’ Thankfully, Anwar seems to understand, at least partly.

And then they’re in the movie theater, and it’s dark, and Maxxie can tell from the way Chris is sitting, so tense and rigid, that he’s having a hard time keeping it together, sitting so close. He at least waits until Anwar leaves for the bathroom before he makes his move. He’s just thankful he thought to have them sit in the back row.

His hand reaches across to gently land on Chris’s knee. And Maxxie thought he was tense before. Now, Chris isn’t even breathing. Maxxie turns his head, stares into Chris’s widened, questioning eyes, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Chris pulls Maxxie into his lap and kisses him, gasping into his mouth as he moves his hands across Maxxie’s body, seeming to be especially preoccupied with his ass. His knees are digging into the armrests but Maxxie doesn’t even notice as he thrusts his hips against Chris’s erection, both swallowing each other’s moans and holding onto each other tighter. Chris manages to get a hand down the back of Maxxie’s pants and then _fuck yes_ he’s got a finger in, and they’re in public but it’s fucking _amazing_ and Maxxie doesn’t know when Anwar will get back but it’s hard to really care when Chris keeps _fucking_ finding his good spot, and now they’re getting way too loud but they’re both so goddamn close and Chris is panting against Maxxie’s ear and Maxxie’s sucking Chris’s neck to silence his moans and it’s just so goddamn fucking _good_.

“What the--?” Maxxie’s eyes pop open to see Anwar standing there, looking a little disgusted and a lot confused, but mostly annoyed. Maxxie slaps at Chris’s arm to try to make him realise that they now have company, but Chris is way too far gone to stop now. Anwar watches in horror as a wet spot slowly starts to appear in the crotch of Chris’s jeans, and Maxxie bites his lip and tries to will away his own aching need and focus on the problem at hand.

“Jesus, guys, seriously? In a fuckin’ movie theater?” Anwar looks around to make sure no one has noticed their rather loud conversation (Thankfully there were only a few other people in there and they all seemed engrossed in the movie) then back to them, and now he looks really annoyed. “Sort it out, just don’t do it in public, fuck-tards. And you owe me, I never got to see the girl’s tits,” he says, shaking his head disgustedly before exiting the establishment.

Chris, looking entirely too pleased with himself for their current situation, sits back languidly and rests his hands on Maxxie’s thighs. “What did he mean by ‘sort it out’”? Chris asks, still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm.

Maxxie sighs, checks on his erection (still throbbing) and Chris’s own mess, then promptly stands, pulling Chris along with him as he makes his way to the bathroom. Once in there he checks all the stalls then locks the door, leaning against it as though that will keep anyone from getting in. “Alright, so, I kinda went on instinct in there…” Maxxie starts, rubbing his arm self-consciously.

Chris looks confused, and Maxxie really really needs to do something about his boner, but he feels he owes it to Anwar to at least try to talk it out before he gets what he wants. “I mean, like, I’ve been noticing you notice me and everything over the past few weeks, you know? And then I figured, why not go for it, and I did, and now I feel like Anwa-- I mean, I feel like I need to know if it’s true that you’re, you know, into me, or whatever.” Maxxie’s never liked this whole ‘Are you straight or are you flexible’ fiasco.

Chris still looks a little confused, but at least he must have gotten the gist of what Maxxie was saying. “Er, there’s really no doubt about whether I’m into you or not, Max. I think my pants say it all,” he says, gesturing to the front of his trousers and smirking.

“Thank God,” Maxxie says, then pushes forward and shoves Chris against the counter, thrusting against Chris’s hipbone and mouthing at his neck.

“Fuck, Max, you could talk coherently when your dick was this hard?” Chris wonders, unzipping Maxxie’s pants and wrapping a deliciously cold hand around his throbbing, heated erection. Maxxie can only whine into Chris’s neck and thrust harder, so close to coming, and then Chris starts doing this thing with his wrist, and his mouth is on Maxxie’s pulsepoint, and his semi is digging into Maxxie’s hip, and then Chris says one word, just one, just his name, “Maxxie,” and it’s just so beautiful and full of things unsaid and feelings that are unsteady yet undeniable and suddenly Maxxie is coming, hard, rocking up into Chris’s hold and now he’s telling him to “Fuck up into my hand, yeah, Max, fuck yeah, you love this,” and Maxxie never knew Chris was a dirty-talker but he likes it.

A few moments later Maxxie comes to, breathing hard as he rests his forehead on Chris’s shoulder. He has a good viewpoint of their lower halves from his position and he groans, closing his eyes. “Fuck, sorry Chris, we’re both pretty dirty right now.”

Chris just makes Maxxie lift his head up, laughing, as he tries to kiss Maxxie around a shit-eating grin. “Fuck that, I’d do it again. Actually, can we? I really wanna go at it again, I mean shit, you really fuckin’ got me excited.” He points down to his now fully-developed erection and Maxxie can’t help it that his mouth waters a little.

Smiling, Maxxie pulls Chris in for another kiss before he zips his pants back up, brushing away at the stains on his clothes, knowing it won’t get rid of them but feeling better for trying. “Sure,” he finally says, grinning crookedly and almost forgetting that they’re going to have to walk around in public with come stains on their clothing. “Wanna go to my place?”

Chris follows after Maxxie, not even ashamed of his erection as he pushes open the door. Grabbing Maxxie’s hand, Chris replies with a teasing “Oh, so you’re really easy, aren’t you?” Maxxie shoves at Chris’s shoulder and they both laugh, and people are looking at them weird and yeah, Chris’s erection still hasn’t gone away and they definitely look like they’ve just been fucking, but really, they don’t give a shit.

After a while, they stop noticing the stares, anyway.


End file.
